Lifeless
by ZombiePanda13
Summary: A sequel to Art Class. This is LastChangeling on a different account. I can't seem to access my other account at the moment. T for angst. Slight TancEm


**ATTENTION!!- This is LastChageling/sushigrrls new account. At this moment in time I am not able to put this story on that account, so I am uploading it here. Until I am able to figure out my password and talk to the person who apparently has the same email address as I do ( WTF?!) I will have this story on my ZombiePanda account. Thanks, that is all.**

**Authors Note- Oh, wow. I haven't written anything in the longest time. I really hope you guys think I've improved since I last updated. I doubt I have because I've focused more on my artwork and rather neglected my writing. Yikes. I should really get back to writing, I have tons of ideas popping into my head, but I never seem to write it all down. I know, very sad. **

_**Ehem, **_**anyways, a lot of my reviewers have asked me to write a sequel to "Art Class" and I feel obligated to give my readers what they want. I wanted to write something from Emma's perspective in "Charlie Bone and the Shadow of Badlock". This is what I think art class was like for Emma when Tancred was "dead".**

---

It finally hit her then.

Art class was always Emma's favorite class. Always.

The smell of pencils shavings and wet paint made her happy and carefree. She could let her mind wander while her hands did all the magic. It wasn't hard for her to stun her teacher and school mates with her art work, something she in secret prided herself in.

The was no magic today.

None whatsoever.

When Emma had sat down at her desk, in her favorite classroom, it finally hit her that he was gone.

Tancred.

There was nobody sitting in his usual spot near the window. Nobody staring lazily out into the court yard. Nobody to for the teacher to yell at to get back to work. There was no one there.

Tancred was gone.

No, not just gone, dead.  
Because she couldn't save him.

Emma's hands curled up into a fist. They were cold, folding into her palms. She clenched them tight, trying to break skin. Emma's breath was rugged and she felt as though she was suffocating.

_This isn't real_.

She told herself this.

_It can't be real._

_He's going to walk through the door and explain to the teacher why he's late._

_He'll come._

He didn't come. Tancred would never walk through that door again. Emma could no longer deny it.

Tancred was dead.

Tancred was dead and it was all her fault.

Emma just wasn't fast enough to save him.

_Maybe if I propped him up better..._

_Maybe if I had confronted Dagbert and stopped him before he could do any damage..._

_Maybe if I was stronger and had lifted him out of there..._

_Maybe if I'd flown faster...._

_Maybe..._

Emma felt sick. Why did this happen? She felt the entire blame shift onto herself.

It was all her fault.

If she had been better, Tancred would still be alive.

If she had been better than she was, Tancred would be here right now, talking to her, smiling, laughing, sending papers flying everywhere.

_It's my fault._

_It's all my fault._

Emma felt sick, like she was going to vomit.

She uncurled her hands, placing them on her stomach.

Emma pressed down on her midriff, firmly.

Anger swelled up into her nerves.

Anger at herself.

Emma squeezed her stomach.

She squeezed hard.

That way, maybe she could feel what Tancred had felt.

What Tancred had felt during his last breaths of life.

---

"Miss Tolly, are you having any problems?"

Emma looked up at her teacher with a blank face. He frowned at her.

"Emma, you need to get to work. If you don't, I'll have to dock some points off your grade."

Some of the students around her snickered.

She felt like strangling each of them.

They didn't know.

They didn't care about what she was going through.

They didn't care about what Tancred had gone through.

Maybe if she closed her small fingers around each of their necks and squeezed, maybe they would have some idea of what she was going through.

What Tancred went through.

Drowning.

Suffocating.

Dying.

Maybe if she strangled herself, she would understand.

Understand how he felt.

How betrayed Tancred must have felt.

When she left him there.

Alone.

Utterly alone.

When she left him there to die.

Emma picked up a pencil with shaking hands.

She began to smoothly press cold, gray waves into the parchment.

Slowly, the picture began to take shape.

Clod, gray waves.

Swirling, coiling, and flowing.

Teasing bubbles, taunting them into thinking they were happy, cheerful.

Cold, gray waves encircling what was once a spirited boy.

Now a lifeless hand.

The only thing above the endless abyss.

A lone hand reaching for her.

Reaching for life.

---

Emma was sure she would hate art class for the rest of her life.

That it would be a haunting reminder of him.

Her first love.

Her last love.

Her lifeless love.

Yes, she would hate art class until he came back to her.

It wasn't too long until she loved her favorite class again.

---

**A/N- Hmmm, that seemed much more... cryptic/poetic than I intended. Oh well. Please review. A simple smiley face would make my day. Maybe even a sentence or two. **

**Much love, LastChangeling.**


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